Marguerite Giri
by GrangerGurl2
Summary: (Phantom of the Opera-Movieverse) Why did Madame Giri save the Phantom, then known as the "Devil's Child? Who is Meg's father? All these questions answered in this fic!
1. Default Chapter

Marguerite Giri

By: GrangerGurl2

Bonjour, my name is Meg Giri. My mother was Marguerite Giri, a dancer, and a dance teacher at the Paris Opera House. I have recently come to the decision that her story must be told, and I will tell you her story as if it were her speaking to you, not myself. Now, this is a very sad story you are going to hear, it is a story of love, lust, friendship, death, and sadly, betrayal.

* * *

The night is cold, and the other dancers and I decide to go to the gypsy fair. The sights! The sounds! The smells! As we approach one tent, with the words "Devil's Child" written above them, I begin to feel a knot within my stomach. The moment I enter that tent, I regret it.

The poor boy, with his face covered by a sack, the "Devil's Child," was beaten with a stick, and then, the sack was removed. All around me, the people make sounds of disgust, and gasp in horror, but I just look at him, and feel sorry for him. Slowly people begin to file out of the tent, and throw money at the man that beat the boy. I start to leave, but look back and see the boy strangle the man. I then decide to take action! I open the door, grab the boy's hand, and together we run back to the Paris Opera House.

As I lead him down the tunnels to the smugglers caves, I begin to wonder, 'What more can I do for this boy? We are both only eleven. I can hardly take care of myself.' Putting all negative thoughts aside, I find the perfect cave, and say, "Wait here, I'll be right back."

"Wait, what's your name?" he asks.

"My name is Marguerite Giri. What's yours?"

"I don't really have one. I've always been Devil's Child." He responds sadly.

In turn, I reply, "Well, I won't call you Devil's Child. I guess I'll have to name you myself."

"Okay." He says, shyly.

"Your name shall be… Erik!" I say, happily. Then I turn to leave, but first I say, "Remember, don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." I wait for him to nod in agreement before I run off.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N 1:** Hi, everyone! I hope you are enjoying my story so far!

**A Cute But Psycho Bunny: **It states in the summary that it is a movieverse fanfic; you may not have noticed it, so just enjoy reading!

**Magda:** Sorry about the misspelling and the error that is her title. So I will clear that, and something else up right now. Also, I do plan to read the book at some point in the future.

**Critiquelle:** No, I'm not implying that the Phantom is Meg's father. I answer that question later. I know that whole thing with the lyrics. Believe me, I haven't listened to my _Wicked_ CD for, like three weeks because I've been listening to my _Phantom_ CD obsessively.

**A/N 2:** Her (Marguerite's) last name is not spelled _Giri_, but is spelled _Giry_. Sorry for the mix-up! Also, she is NOT a ballet teacher, but a ballet mistress. Something else I had forgotten to mention was the little monkey doll, which becomes sort of crucial later. So, let's just pretend I mentioned "Erik" taking his monkey doll with him when Marguerite saved him.

---

As I run up to my room, I run into Madame Marceaux, the ballet mistress, who looks very upset. She says, "Marguerite Giry, where in the world have you been? Don't you know there is a murderer on the loose?" and she gives me a very stern look.

I begin to feel nervous, I've never been a good liar, but I know I have to do my best for Erik. "Uh, a murderer, you say? How awful! Actually, I got lost, Madame Marceaux. I'm sorry." I lower my head, and act ashamed.

"Lost? You got lost? How could you get lost? The fair is across the street, silly girl." She replies angrily.

By this time I am extremely nervous, and worried about Erik, after all I had promised him that I'd be right back. "Well, you see, Madame Marceaux, the sights, the smells, and the sounds were so overwhelming, that I not only got lost, I lost track of time, as well. Really, I'm very sorry, Madame Marceaux."

Her voice softens and as she looks at me fondly she says, "Very well, Marguerite. Go to bed, now. It's very late."

I curtsey and reply, "Oui, Madame Marceaux. Good night." Then I leave, and head for the room I share with my friend, Annette. As I enter the room, Annette looks up and I can see the worry on her face.

"Oh thank God you are alive! When you didn't come back with the rest of us I thought—"

"Don't worry so much, Annette. I'm fine, really, I am. Now, where did I put my book?" I ask, thinking of an excuse to use the mirror-door to the caves, which thankfully is in our room.

I turn around, to look at her and notice she is giving me the same look she's given me a hundred times before, the look which means 'I can't believe this, you almost get yourself into trouble with Madame Marceaux, and you're just going to cause more trouble.' Desperate, I try to think of something to say. "Annette, my very best friend, I am just going to read for a few minutes, then I'm going to come back."

She looks at me skeptically, and replies, "I don't even know why you like it so much down there, there are rats, and mold, and God knows what else!" She shivers with disgust, which makes me giggle.

"Fine, I'll just go down to find something I left in there last night, and come right back. I swear." I reply, and seeing her sigh, I grab some candles, open the mirror-door, and run down the dank halls to the caves, to find Erik.

He looks up and says, "Where were you? I got worried you forgot about me…," and he clutches his little monkey doll. He looks so sad, I almost want to cry. But then I remember, if I start to cry now, he would think me too weak to help him.

Instead, I ruffle his hair, and say, "Sorry, Erik. It was the ballet mistress. She started lecturing me, and then, when I got to my room, my friend, Annette, started lecturing me as well. But look! I brought candles!" I put the candles down and am just about to remind him to be careful, when he looks up, worry all over his dirty, and sadly misshapen features. "What is it?" I whisper.

He whispers back, "Someone's coming!" We run to the nearest rock and hide behind it, waiting for whoever it is to find us and kill us, or leave. We pray that the latter happens.


End file.
